


Lionheart

by theotpeffect



Series: Lionheart [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Violence, Friends to Lovers, Gen, High Fantasy, M/M, Mostly Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, eventual she/her pronouns for pidge, i only chose the rating for the violence there will be no smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-28 04:19:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotpeffect/pseuds/theotpeffect
Summary: The elves are gone, except for the last two of their kind -- Queen Allura and her right hand, Coran. Zarkon had wiped them out, and with the threat of another world-ending war on the horizon the Paladins of Altea are called upon after ten thousand years of dormancy. The new Paladins are ripped from their lives to embark on a quest to end the war before it begins.Keith is ready for a new chapter in his life, it is the change he so desperately needs. But Lance, even with his desire for fame, had not signed up to fight violent battles countless leagues from his home. He only wants to see his family again.





	1. Keith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to finally be sharing this with everyone!! It's been my brainchild for so long (the original publication date was supposed to be mid-August in 2016 so holy fuk) it's gonna be great getting it out into the world now!! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it :D

            Keith was alone, as he always was. A book was nestled in his hands, the only one he owned. Years ago, when he was barely a man grown, his teacher had given it to him and then disappeared. He could still remember the day. They had been outside — Shiro held it out to him, a sword in his other hand. He’d told him that day that everything he needed to know of being a knight was within its pages, but the first time he’d read them, by the light of his only candle, he’d found only children’s tales. The Paladins were only old fairy tales, after all. He read and read and found nothing of value. There were only the normal stories of valiant, self-sacrificial knights that he had always known were important.

            It took Shiro’s death for him to finally understand.

            There was a knock on his door that roused him from his stupor with a violent jerk. He nearly dropped the book, saving it just before it tumbled to his dirt floor.

            Keith squinted, peering between the dilapidated, wooden slats that made for his crude front door. He couldn’t see much besides bright orange hair, and a uniform. A uniform from the castle.

            His eyes widened as he hastened to his feet. No one from the castle had ever visited him, not even when he had established himself as the best knight in the Garrison. He nearly forgot himself as he stood there, gaping. Then he was rushing forward and pulling it open, only for one of the longer slats to catch on a rut in the floor. He cursed and  _pulled_ , finally hauling it open with a grating squeak.

            He stared at the man in front of him like a newborn babe. He was indeed from the castle, but he was not just a castle guard. The man was none other than Coran, the right-hand to the Queen.

            Keith’s back straightened on pure instinct and his arms seared themselves to his sides. He was suddenly, for the first time, grateful for having been in the Garrison.

            “Keith?” Coran asked. His accent was strange as it had always been rumored.

            He nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

            “Queen Allura has requested a meeting with you at once,” Coran said. “You will need nothing other than yourself and an open mind.”

            Keith nodded. He only went back inside his shack to retrieve his dagger, which he never left behind. When he joined them outside, he struggled with his door once more. His face burned. He wouldn’t be making such a fool of himself if there were a sword in his hand.

            Coran smiled when Keith finally turned towards him once more. He led him forward with a quick flick of his fingers and a cheerful, “Come along!”

            Keith followed him obediently, his posture rigid and his eyes locked on the back of Coran’s head.

            His shack was in the western reaches of the city, where the sounds of people were distant and he could be left on his own. Only the back roads to the city were around him, and few at that. Normally, he would be glad for the distance, but now when he was plunged into an unbearable silence with the Queen’s Hand, he regretted his isolation.

            They traveled East, deeper into the city. When they passed the first line of houses and shops the sound rose up louder and louder. The shouts and giggles of playing children, the thunder of horses and carts, the shouting of sellers and buyers alike, were near overwhelming. Coran nodded to many people, never stopping but still handing out friendly greetings as he went. Keith did not look at anyone, nor did he speak until the castle’s gates rose up above them. Seeing the castle up close and knowing he would be entering, it suddenly seemed frighteningly  _real_ and he could not hold his tongue any longer. “Why has the Queen requested to see  _me_?” He was a deserter and an oath-breaker as far as the Garrison was concerned. He was worth nothing, belonged to no one. Yet here he stood.

            When Coran glanced at him, he turned away and winced at the ground as if his thoughts could be heard. He would be turned away now, surely. But Coran clasped his shoulder. “Great things await you on the other side of the castle doors. I’m only here to guide you.”

 

***

 

            The walk through the castle was a long one, nearly as long as the walk through the city in Keith’s opinion, and just as winding. The halls were plain, the only decorations to speak of were the sconces on the walls, every single one of them lit. Coran and he seemed as if they were the only ones who had ever walked these halls. The palace was bigger, grander, more beautiful than his own home, but just as lonely.  Suddenly, he was not as anxious as he had been.

            They paused in front of a set of ornate doors that resembled the front ones, only smaller. Coran placed his palm against it and pushed, making it glide across the marble floors without so much as a sound.

            Keith sucked in a breath at what was before him. The throne room.

            A single round dais stood at its center, a few steps above the ground. Upon it was a grey throne, meticulously chipped into its mighty, squarish shape. Above it dangled a crystal, white as the rest of the castle, with sparks of gentle blues and purples flashing from its jagged body.

            “Coran,” a woman said. Keith’s eyes snapped back downwards. The voice was familiar to him, as it was to all people of Altea.

            Queen Allura sat on the steps of her dais, just behind her throne. She stood, sending mice scurrying from her lap. They did not travel far, however, they stayed close to her heels like dogs as she approached them. She was beautiful and graceful. Her white hair fell down to her waist, a cluster of clouds. Her dress of purple and white silk fell around her perfectly. Her elven ears caught his attention last, elegantly curving into points. These were ears he had only seen in scrolls before. Ears that spoke of a people long lost to time and war. Coran tilted his head downwards and Keith, now with his wits about him, fell to one knee, eyes closed, face toward the ground, and a hand over his heart.

            “Please, Keith, rise.”

            He did as he was told, only raising his eyes to hers when he stood upright. Her irises were a light blue, with hints of purple flecked here and there, just like the crystal above her. She smiled at him, glittering.

            “Welcome to the Castle of Lions.” She turned then and marched up to her throne. When she sat, it was the most gracious thing Keith had ever seen. Her skirts flared out around her and her limbs settled perfectly. Her back was straight, her chin raised just slightly enough to be regal and her gaze fierce. Keith then understood why she was Queen.

            “The others should be on their way, Princess,” Coran reported. “I’ve informed the guard to escort them here.”

            She nodded. Coran made his way up to her side and began to exchange more whispered words with her.

            Keith stood awkwardly, shifting from side to side, rubbing his hands and squeezing them together. He glanced around the room, for want of something to do other than stare at Coran and Allura who had plunged deeply into conversation.

            The room was mostly bare save for its center and the large windows that replaced almost all the walls. Keith fancied he could see all of Altea from where he stood. At the very top of the sloping hill the main city was built upon, the castle sat, and from the very top of the tower, he could see the glittering sea in the west, directly in front of him. The view transition to green land and farms in the north, and to the south rose the craggy Balmera Mountains like teeth from the gums of the earth. Only the Olkarion Forest, a thick, deep wood that had eaten many a man, was invisible to him thanks to the castle’s wall. At least it was no plain wall. A mural of the night sky was painted across its entire length, even stretching across the door. Stars dappled across its black expanse, some connected by thin lines; constellations Keith had never learned to identify despite his many nights spent gazing into the beyond.

            Suddenly, the sky broke and four strangers filed through the gap. One was simply a part of the castle guard, but the other three were dressed in the uniform of the Garrison: a white tunic that was meant to be kept immaculate at all times even during sparring, black trousers, and simple boots. The knights in training were all varied people. One was lanky with short, brown hair, and a smirk that oozed confidence. Another was tall, and broad, and had kind eyes that flicked to Keith before he smiled. The third was short and Keith wondered if he even reached the Garrison’s youngest age of fourteen. His hair was unruly, he was thin, with wooden spectacles resting atop his nose and overall gave off a much less knightly countenance than one would expect from the Garrison.

            “Welcome!” Allura said once the door shut behind the trio. They snapped their gaping mouths shut and bowed before their Queen, just as Keith had. And just as she had told Keith to rise, she told them. Only when they had raised their heads once more did Keith realize he recognized one of them.

            “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I have brought you here,” she said. Coran slipped from her side and exited the room quietly, his call for guards audible before the great door closed behind him. “The matter of this war has been growing larger and larger over the course of these years. Zarkon grows restless and the rest of the land lies tensely in wait.”

            “We know as knights we must pledge our lives to the land and the peace of our people, it’s our duty but why have you decided to call us three?” the largest of the knights asked.

            “Why have you decided to call  _him?_ _”_  The knight Keith had recognized sneered his way. “He dropped out of the Garrison, and it makes less sense that you would bring one of the common folk to your castle.”

            Keith clenched his teeth and kept himself from biting back. He had known the man to be headstrong and stubborn, and a good archer, but he had never known he could be so unkind.

            “Peace,” Allura demanded. All of them stood to attention again, their gazes fixed on Allura, even if Keith was tempted to toss one last glare the lanky man’s way. “This is not proper behavior for people such as yourselves. I have not chosen you to come here.” She gestured above her to the crystal that twinkled peacefully in the light from the windows. “I’m merely a messenger of the Castle’s demands and prophecies. It has told me that there will be a group of five who will bring peace as the five knights of ten thousand years ago protected the land.”

            Keith’s mind went back to his book, resting atop his bed in his little dwelling. Five knights and their mighty steeds of war, with weapons that rippled power, armor that was the strongest ever forged, and magic that rivaled the greatest mages’. Valor, honor, and hope embodied.

            “You will be Altea’s new protectors — the Paladins.”

            Silence hung heavy over the four of them. They looked at each other for a long moment, not quite believing what they had heard. Keith had never dreamed that such a thing would be real. The story of the Paladins could not possibly be true.

            “What does that mean, exactly?” the short one stepped forward, fiddling with his glasses like they did not quite fit his face. His voice was high for one his age.

            “It means we’re going to be heroes, Pidge!” the brown-haired knight said. “We’ll be the greatest knights of history!”

            “It means we’re going to be in the front lines of the war,” the kind one said. That sobered the rest of them.

            “I realize it’s a lot to understand. I know what has become of the legends of the Paladins, how they’ve become a mere fairy tale, but they are true and it is time for them to return.” She stood and tiptoed down the steps to her throne as if she would send them scattering like the mice at her feet if she made too quick a movement. “I can leave you for a while so you may comprehend what I’m asking of you and come to the decision to accept what I am offering you.”

            She began to move towards the door, and Keith felt overcome with the fear that if she left, this promise of a new life would vanish with her. The others would turn her down and he would be left to live in the shack again and wait for a man who would never return.

            “No,” Keith said suddenly. Everyone jolted as his voice boomed through the room. He cleared his throat and continued, quieter than before. “I can’t speak for the others but I need no more time, I understand what is being asked of me. I will fight this war, and I will keep the people safe from the Galra. I will stand on the front lines of our army and I will pledge my life to you. To Altea.”

            Allura smiled and cupped his hand in hers. “I thank you, Keith.”

            “I understand as well, Queen Allura,” the one Keith recognized said. He stepped forward, placing himself at Allura’s side. “I pledge my life to you as well.”

            “And I.”

            “And I.”

            Keith felt it deep in his blood. Even though the morning was well aged he could feel the dawn of a new day. He had a calling now, a purpose, something to live for, to  _fight for._

 

***

 

            Allura seated herself on her throne once the four of them had pledged themselves to her. There was more to be discussed, and more to learn.

            “You’d mentioned there were five knights,” Pidge said. “Where is the fifth? Is it perhaps Lord Coran? Or you?”

            Allura shook her head. She leaned back in her chair as if leaden weights had been attached to her. “The fifth is someone else. I know not who, or what they are, all I know is they are trapped and injured in the Galran Empire.”

            “Then we have to save them,” the lanky man said.

            “Indeed,” the Queen said. ‘Without them, your group will not be as powerful as it could be, and they are taking on the role of your leader. It’s of the utmost importance that we rescue them.”

             “So then when do we set out to find them?” the same knight asked. He made a fist and beat it against his chest with a wide smile. “I’m ready to fight some Galra.”

            “There are some matters we must take care of first,” Allura said. “I would like to begin with your Paladin training. I will teach you how to use your Bayards, your magic, and most importantly, your lions.”

            “We’re receiving pet lions?” the brown-haired knight exclaimed. “This is possibly the best news I’ve ever heard.”

            Allura’s brow furrowed and she gazed at all of them with a stern expression. “Do not be mistaken. These lions are no pets, they’re your companions. They can gaze into your mind just as you can gaze into theirs, and if treated poorly they could be more dangerous to you than Zarkon ever could.”

            “We understand, Your Grace. Treat them as our equals,” the largest of the three knights said.

            “Precisely,” Allura said. “Now, as we wait for Coran's return, please tell each other your names. I’ve already learned yours through the Garrison, however, I think it important that you familiarize yourselves with each other, you’ll be closer than any other group of men in Altea.”

            The knight that had insulted Keith stepped forward first. “I’m Lance, best archer in the Garrison, most desired man across the land.”

            Keith rolled his eyes and looked away from him. Everything about the man irritated him, from the cocky way he jutted his hip out, to his infuriating smirk, to the way he spoke.

            “You remember me, don’t you?” he asked Keith, who frowned. He did indeed remember him, unfortunately. “We were rivals back when you were still a knight.”

            “I don’t remember declaring a rivalry of any sort with the likes of  _you_ ,” Keith said.

            Now it was Lance who frowned. “There was no one as closely matched as we were. I almost overtook your position as the best knight in training.”

            Keith huffed. “I can’t seem to remember you.”

            Even as he said so, he could clearly see Lance in the practice fields because Lance was not a person one could easily forget, even if Keith had long discarded his name. He could see Lance throwing taunts his way as he flawlessly shot off arrow after arrow until his quiver was empty.

            Lance, now, looked as if he had been struck. “I don’t think there’s a greater travesty than forgetting me. Do you perhaps have memory problems?”

            “Clearly,” Pidge said as he shoved past Lance, effectively breaking the growing tension between them. “Anyhow, you may call me Pidge.”

            Keith nodded. “Keith.”

            “And I am Hunk,” the last of the trio said.

            “Wonderful,” Allura said. She eyed Keith and Lance as she continued. “I hope the four of you will be getting along.”

            The door opened then, revealing Coran and a trail of guards. He carried a single, long pillow with four cylinders resting atop it, while the guards carried armor and deposited it at their feet.

            “This is the armor you will be wearing to battle,” Coran said. Keith’s was a deep crimson, with black pieces at the midriff, the top of the thighs, and shoulders. Scratches of battles long past could still be seen here and there, gouged deep into the metal that glinted dangerously in the light.

            Coran plucked a cylinder from the silken pillow. A guard took the rest of the cylinders from him and backed away as Coran came forward. Each was embroidered beautifully with runes of various different colors: red, blue, green, yellow. Coran held the blue one.

            “These are your Bayards,” he said. “It will fit itself to its user and become the weapon that fits you most.”

            He wandered back to the pillow and placed it there. The guard scurried to a small pedestal in the shadows of the room, before bowing and exiting with the rest who had come.

            “We won’t be using your weapons or armor just yet,” Allura said. “First comes the most essential weapon every Paladin must have. Your  _lions_.”

            “This is the best day of my life,” Lance whispered.

            Hunk cleared his throat. “Before we see them, is there, perhaps, a chance they’ll eat us?”

            “No,” Allura said. “If you accept them and they accept you there will be nothing to worry about.”

            “Right, and how do we get them to accept us?” Hunk asked.

            “That is for you to find out.”

            Pidge nudged Hunk in the side. “Be careful of the claws.”

            “Leave him be,” Lance said, even though he was smiling. He brought Hunk closer to him by the shoulders. “There’s no way the lion won’t like you, everyone likes you. Remember all those grumpy, stray cats that always treat you like their mother? You will be _fine._ ”

            Hunk nodded. Allura stood, “I will bring the lions here now. Are you ready?”

            All four of them nodded their heads and prepared themselves. Allura, standing straight as steel, stepped to the edge of the dais. She closed her eyes, threw her head back and raised her hands heavenward. For a moment, there was only silence. The Paladins watched, breathless, as Allura mouthed words to the sky.

            Then the room erupted. From Allura’s palms, a light grew and grew until it exploded outward. Suddenly, the throne room was awash in the night sky. Keith twisted and turned, watching the stars pulse brightly and the planets twirl. Looking up, it seemed to go on and on, stretching even beyond the confines of the walls around them. He grew dizzy from looking into infinity. He closed his eyes and attempted to bring himself back down, back to the ground he had lived his entire life. Where he had been told he belonged.

            His eyes snapped open when he heard a soft growl in front of him. All the breath he had left him in a single exhale.

            A lioness, taller than Keith himself, even on all fours, stood before him. Her coat was unlike anything he had seen before. Her chin and underbelly were a pure white, as was the fur around her toes, but the rest of her was red as the blood that pumped through his veins.

            Allura appeared by his side, with a gentle hand resting against his arm. “Careful with her,” she whispered. “She’s the most fickle, and demands the utmost respect.”

            Keith nodded. He stared at her, as she stared back. He was at a loss, he wanted to turn to Allura, consult her and win the lion’s trust already but something in her eyes compelled him to continue staring. A pull too powerful to ignore locked him in place. He gulped in a breath of air. Respect. That is what she asked for, and what he must give.

            He fell to his knees and bowed to her, deeper than he had for even Allura. His forehead rested against the floor, his pride pushed to the side for one moment. She deserved this kind of bow, for she was a queen with the power to tear him apart with a mere whim. She was his judge.

            He felt her breath blow his hair back as she sniffed him. She huffed, and then withdrew with nothing more to offer him but a strange feeling deep in his stomach. He felt as if he were falling, floating across the stars, breath short and helpless in the dark. But then something took him in their jaws and he was steadied once more, on firm ground and more powerful than he had ever been. Reborn.

            Standing, he stared as his lion looked down at him. Slowly, he reached out and touched her fur. It was soft, so soft against the skin of his rough hand. He smiled, and let go. She turned then, padding off into a swirling black hole, ringed with light, that opened for her from nothing. She hopped through the portal gracefully and disappeared as quickly as she had come.

            Keith blinked as if pulled from a daydream. He glanced around him and caught the sight of the green lion disappearing through a portal the same as his lion had. The tip of its tail and its paws were white save for speckles of green splashed across it. The color reminded him of the forest, the leaves on the trees, the creeping moss, and healthy grass. Pidge waved, smiling, as the portal closed behind it.

            Laughter rang out, and at its source was Lance in the far corner of the room. His smile was wide and his voice boisterous as his lioness licked his face. Her coat shimmered a lovely blue, glistening like the sea, and prettier than any gem.

            Hunk’s lioness seemed the most like a natural lion, despite her massive bulk. Her coat was yellow, with a cream underbelly, but when she moved her fur shimmered like gold in the sunlight. She was by far the biggest in girth, with wide shoulders like Hunk’s. Even sitting, her muscles rippled.

            What a mighty sight. The realization that they were the protectors of all the people of the land finally struck Keith like a drum. They were the Paladins of Altea: with mighty weapons and armor, and magic yet untapped, and powerful lionesses as their familiars. He was living a fairy tale, his life would never be the same, and he had never been more happy to acknowledge such a thing.

 

***

 

            All the lions now returned to their portals, the Paladins were left to gather around Allura who sat on her throne once more.

            “The lions that chose you hold a similarity to your own personality.” Allura began. “They will be your most trusted allies, but before that, you must make a bond with them and each other. They’ve accepted you, but this is merely the beginning.”

            “Join us again in the morning, by then we must begin with familiarizing you with your Bayards and magic. “

            “Will we still be a part of the Garrison?” Pidge stepped forward.

            Allura nodded her head slowly. “We will speak more of it tomorrow, I have yet to make a decision of what to do with you. But for now, act as if you are still one of them, the only difference will be that you train in the castle now.”

             “Yes, your Grace,” Pidge said.

            Allura nodded. “That is all I have for you today. Go home, sleep and let the excitement wear off. Thank you for pledging your lives to the war.”


	2. Lance

            The last words Allura spoke to them rang heavy through Lance’s mind. He had not agreed to a life’s worth of war. In fact, all he had been thinking of was becoming someone of importance; a knight whose name was whispered of in every bar and a part every child’s game of heroes. What would happen to him months, even years from then had not crossed his mind, nor what it would do to his family.

            But the Lion — she just might make it all worth it. He could feel her. When he reached out to stroke her fur, there had been a connection he had felt there beyond the physical. Her excitement coursed through him and amplified his own tenfold. He could feel a purr rumble deep in his chest, could _hear_ her words of pleasure at having finally met him. Never before had he felt something so incredible, never had a bond he knew would run as deeply as theirs, not even with his friends or family. Consequences were sure to come with this decision, but for now, the thought of his Lion, tall and proud and the color of the sea, kept him from being too afraid.

            “You’ve been strangely quiet,” Hunk said.

            At his side Pidge huffed. “A blessing if I’ve ever seen one.”

            Both Hunk and Lance graciously ignored him as they trudged on through the city. “Usually when you’re happy, you speak a thousand miles an hour. Are you not happy now?”

            “You sure were yesterday, I couldn’t get the ringing in my ears to die down for hours,” Pidge added. “It’s strange that you’ve quieted so quickly. Your moods last _days._ ”

            “I was just thinking of my family,” Lance answered quietly. “I don’t know how to tell them this, or that I might not be able to visit as often.”

            Pidge shrugged. “It’s been years since any news of the Galra came by. I doubt there will be much we’ll be doing for a long while. I think we’ll be getting fat before we head off to any wars.”

            “Queen Allura did mention that she was thinking of war though, it’s why she called the Paladins back after ten thousand years,” Hunk said. When Lance grimaced he held his hands out in a placating manner and pushed out a rushed chuckle. “Not that _we_ will be going to war. Ten thousand years is a long time, a few more would make no difference.”

            “Right,” Lance said. “Right, you’re _right_. Just because she was thinking of it, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen soon.”

            Pidge sighed and rested a gentle hand on his arm. “Oh, Lance.”

            The rest of the walk to the castle was spent in silence. Lance’s thoughts never strayed far from his family. The warmth of his home and his siblings’, his _parents_ _’,_ love was calling to him. He yearned to see them again, but the length of the city rested between them. If only they could see him like this, standing in front of the castle gates knowing he belonged there and being escorted to learn magic and weapons. It was all a dream.

            Once the three of them arrived at the front doors, a guard ushered them towards the back, to the yard. Targets, posts, and a small clearing painted as a tiny arena were littered about the yard. Allura, Coran, and a single servant were there as well, waiting patiently for their arrival. Keith was nowhere to be found. Small blessings.

            “Keith will be here in only a few moments,” Allura said, as they stopped in front of her small group. “Which will be when we begin.”

            True to her word, Keith appeared very soon after. He kept a distance between himself and the rest of them. Lance felt a spike of annoyance at seeing so. He wondered if Keith thought himself better than the rest of them because he had once been regarded as a promising knight, possibly the heir to the best. He’d surely have basked in that fame. Women fell all over him, and men tried to win his favor. Yet he was always alone. It couldn’t be seen as anything other than a snub to those people who tried so hard to please him.

            Keith shifted, keeping his eyes towards the ground and playing with the gloves he wore. His shoulders were hunched and his long hair fell in front of his face. Strange behavior for someone who looked down on others. Lance frowned when Keith caught his eye and looked away just as quickly. Perhaps… perhaps he wasn’t entirely snobby.

            Lance was forced to turn his attention back to Allura when she spoke. “We will begin with your Bayards.”

            She turned to the servant who held the weapons on the same pillow as the day before. Gently, she plucked one from its resting place and called out to Lance. He stepped forward as she reached out. She let the Bayard slide from her fingers and into his palm. He stepped back, admiring it all the while. Its body was steel, cold and bright in his hand. Blue inscriptions were carved across its face. Lance never learned how to read, but he could feel the power from them, oozing from the letters into his skin like a chant. The runes must have been as ancient as the ground they stood on.

            When Lance closed his fist around the Bayard he could feel it writhing like an angry snake. Heat began building. If the feeling of quickly melting metal wasn't enough to make it fall from his grasp, the Bayard’s desperate attempt at escape would have done it.

            Just when he was opening his hand to let it free, a blinding flash of blue light rose up around him. The Bayard became heavier and he could see it stretching impossibly, growing and curling until a bow had formed in his hands. The day’s light glinted from its blue surface. Some parts overlapped, giving the look of rolling waves rippling across its body. He pulled at the string experimentally and nearly dropped the thing when an arrow manifested between his fingers. It was smooth and pure white with feathers of a blue jay at its end. Magic, quintessence — it worked so strangely.

            Lance took a deep breath and aimed at a distant target. The bow was flexible, just right to pull back as far as he could even though the body did not seem like wood, the flexibility functioned the same. The weight was perfect too. Even though it easily reached from the top of his head to below his knees, it wasn’t as heavy as he would expect yet he did not fear that it was light enough to snap if he pulled too hard.

            He let the string slip through his fingers with a steady exhale and watched as the arrow flew straight and true to the center of the target. It struck with a satisfying _thump_ without so much as a shiver running down its length. Lance whooped and watched in amazement as another arrow quickly replaced the other with a small flash of the same blue the Bayard appeared in.

            “This is amazing,” he whispered.

            He let the bow slip from his vision in another burst of light. It was now the cylinder, small enough for him to slip into his pocket as he watched the others receive their weapons.  

            Pidge was the next to wield his Bayard. In a spark of green, like emerald jewels, a simple dagger appeared in his hands. Much like the light, the blade sang green. The pommel was a simple white and easily gripped. Pidge twirled it in his fingers expertly before flinging it towards the target where Lance’s arrow was still stuck. A glowing, green string, pointed sporadically like a vine, stretched between the distance and attached Pidge’s wrist to the very edge of the pommel. Pidge pulled on it, after a hesitant moment, sending the dagger flying back his way, handle first.

            “It’s so small, truly adorable Pidgeon,” Lance said as the weapon disappeared. 

            “Yes,” he said, a dangerously mischievous glint in his eye. “It is quite adorable, isn’t it?”

            Hunk was already gripping his weapon tightly as the last of what seemed like the sun’s rays subsided from his palm. A mighty, two-handed battle ax swayed in front of him. He stepped towards a post a distance from the rest of them and swung with all he had. His muscles flexed with every movement of his weapon, the control of his grip apparent as he cleanly sliced the post through its middle. Hunk studied the blade as he heaved it upwards once more. Like molten gold it shimmered in the light with slivers of white stretching down the edges of its blades, the tips of which were curled slightly inward; Lance could see an enemy being caught on one of those.

            “It suits you,” Pidge called.

            Hunk nodded and let it revert back to its cylindrical form. “I always did enjoy the large weapons.”

            “You certainly haven’t tired of sending me to an early grave by swinging them around every which way,” Lance added.

            “You’re simply jealous that your Bayard didn’t end up being as fearsome as mine.”

            “Like I’d be jealous of that. What my weapon lacks in fearsomeness it makes up for in elegance.”

            Pidge snorted at him and turned his attention back to Allura who handed Keith the final Bayard. He wasted no time in transforming it, barely stepping away from Allura enough to let his weapon appear from the flames of his summons. A sword, a good three feet in length appeared in his hand. The blade was red, like drizzled blood, and, much like Hunk’s, the edges of the blade were lined with white. A noble sword, and a deadly looking one at that.

            Keith raised it suddenly. The others gave him a wide berth, and he swung it in a perfect arc. It made a whistling sound through the air until he drove its edge into the ground. He pulled it up with a little effort and ran his finger down the edge. He hissed when his skin tore open in a deep wound a lesser sword would never have inflicted. A servant rushed forward with a cloth and pressed it against his cut with a chiding word.

            “Why the hell would you _ever_ touch the edge of a sword like that?” Lance said. Keith let his weapon become safely tucked away again, and Lance felt bolder in stepping forward to see the full extent of the damage.

            Keith took the cloth and turned to sneer Lance’s way. “I was testing its edge. Maybe you’d have known if you ever paid attention during our lessons.”

            “And _you_ would know you could test it just as well by cutting parchment.”

            Allura stepped forward, placing herself between the two of them and effectively cutting them off. “None of you should ever need to test the edges of your blades or arrows. The Bayard will take care of it for you. They will always be at their sharpest and will never want for a whetstone or even a cloth to clean them.”

            The servant who had tended to Keith came around and began gathering their Bayards at a quick gesture and _“If you would please”_ from Allura. Lance frowned as he departed with his weapon. He was already quite fond of it and could see himself summoning that very same bow when he was old, grizzled, and covered in battle scars.

            “Now, for magic,” Allura said. “Coran can teach you as well as I so please to turn to him as well if you are ever in need.”

            “I’ve seen quite a few battles with only my magic as a weapon,” Coran added. “I was even honored as a master by King Alfor himself.”

            _King Alfor_. Lance had not heard that name many times in his life. He remembered him being revered as a hero during the height of the war with Zarkon — before both sides went dormant and Allura took the throne when Alfor’s wounds proved to be too great to overcome. Some begrudged him the decision to move to this secluded part of the land, surrounded by a deadly forest, an erratic sea, and mountains nigh impossible to traverse. As many called him a coward for running as others called him a hero for ever having fought in the first place. Lance’s parents had always been of the opinion that he was a hero, and Lance could hardly disagree, especially now, on trial for his own inevitable war.

            Allura nodded and continued on with her speech. “You seem to be quite comfortable with your weaponry already, but magic will be another skill you must hone. Your limitations will be great, and you would be lucky to have magic powerful enough to use in a fight by the end of the month. But time is running short, I fear.” 

            “Your training will be rigorous and not much time beyond it will be available to you,” Coran said.

            “I’m afraid so, so I will begin by telling you about each of the elements intertwined with your magic and quintessence.”

            She listed off each of them as she went along. Lance was the guardian spirit of water. He was pleased with hearing that. The sea had always been a second home to him. When all there was to do on the farm was wait for the crops to grow, he and his family would set off to the ocean to stay for a few days. Always, his mother or father had to stay behind to tend the farm while they traveled, even if they owned one of the properties closest to the sea. He had always hoped to bring the both of them there one day, make them rich so they could take the season off. But that was many years away, and he must focus on the waters in front of him. Which he could control with a flick of a finger.

            Pidge was tied to the forests. Lance was hard pressed to see a match between them. Pidge dwelled in the libraries, well away from the windows in his stacks of books. Lance was sure he had never once seen Pidge outside unless he was forced to be.

            Hunk’s element was the earth and everything beneath their feet. He held his head up proudly when Allura announced as much to him. The Garretts were a long line of smiths, so long in fact that Hunk had no stories of any in his family who strayed from their path. Even Hunk, who was attending an institution that bred knights and soldiers, chose to specialize in the forge where he made weapons and armor near constantly. He was good at what he did as well; Lance found it hard to name a better smith than his friend. Crafting metals was his art, and being a lord of the earth suited no one more. 

            Keith was named the guardian of fire. Lance did not know much about Keith, he must admit. But the way he fought, the way he rose to Lance’s taunts and _growled_ under his breath when he was angered reminded him of a deadly flame. Fire was all Lance could ever see burning behind his eyes. Angry, dangerous, fire.

 

***

 

            Allura let them go once they had all proven their incompetence with magic. Lance could not lift a drop of water from a bucket placed directly at his feet, Hunk could not move a pebble, Pidge could not budge a leaf, and Keith could summon no flickers of fire or even smoke.

            By the end of the day, when the sun began setting low on the horizon, they were all irritable, and Allura’s departing words did nothing to brighten Lance’s mood.

            She had stood in front of them with a small smile. “Your efforts for today were great, don’t be disheartened. With time, you will all grow to be strong. But as I said before it will take rigorous training in order to make such a thing happen. We have not even created bonds between the five of you. Although, with the Black Paladin gone it would be difficult. Therefore, I have come to a decision. You will all be staying at the Castle as we continue. By tomorrow I expect you to have most if not everything ready to be moved here, tell your families that the Queen has ordered it if you must. It would simply be easier to have all of you here. Attacks weigh heavily on my mind as well and having the four of you close would ease some of the danger.”

            She left them at that, and retreated into the Castle once more. The four of them exited the yard together and plodded along the streets. Pidge departed first with nothing more than a grunt when Lance wished him farewell. He headed straight towards the Garrison and Lance wondered if he had any family to return to. Never before had he mentioned them but, of course, he never spoke much of his life at all. Hunk was the next to leave and was more amiable than their other friend as he veered off with a wave and a quiet goodbye.

            It was only until they were near the outskirts of the city that Lance realized Keith was still with him. He was a quiet sort, and apparently not as keen for conversation as most. But Lance was not such a way, he loved talking to people, even people like Keith.

            “I still can’t believe you don’t remember me,” Lance began with a growing smirk. “It’s near impossible to forget someone as handsome as myself.”

            Keith rolled his eyes to the sky but said nothing in return. Silence overtook the two of them and Lance cleared his throat.

            “Do you live past the city too?” Lance asked.

            Keith nodded. When he offered no other response Lance was forced to continue on his own.

            “Wonderful!” he said. “My family lives on a farm, it’s really the only type of place large enough to have all of us. If we all went into the city it might overflow.” Keith hummed, and Lance plowed on. “Does your family live on a farm as well, or are they perhaps fisherman?”

            Keith stiffened, and looked towards the ground. “What does it matter? Don’t ask idiotic questions.”

            Lance bristled. He must have been wrong to assume that after the excruciatingly long day they had been through together civility was possible. This was Keith after all, the boy who was angry enough to yell at his instructors and be kicked out of the Garrison because he acted like he never could afford to show some respect.

            Lance couldn’t help but snap, “In case you’ve forgotten, we are now the Paladins of Altea, I was just trying to get to know you, like brothers in arms _do_. Or are you not familiar with friendship?”

            Keith stopped, right there in the middle of the road. They had left the city at least, so Keith could have his tantrum in peace. In a low growl, he said, “We are _not_ brothers.”

            He stormed off of the road onto some small beaten path that Lance had barely gotten a glimpse of. He resisted the urge to follow it, find where Keith was going. If Keith couldn’t be friends with Lance when he was so clearly trying then Lance had no need to find out where he lived, or if he even was going home.

            “I never wanted to be brothers anyway,” Lance mumbled. He kicked a rock well down the road and crossed his arms over his chest. The walk home seemed to stretch longer than it normally did. Even consumed with contemptuous thoughts of Keith, the road did not flash by him. By the time his home appeared in front of him, he realized that he had not spent a single moment thinking about ways to deliver his news in a gentle fashion. He had been far too busy seething, and now that he was facing the trial of his family, he had no idea what he would say to them.

            Standing in front of his doorway, he searched and searched for any useful words but his mind remained infuriatingly blank. He was sure he would have remained out there until the sun rose if not for his younger sister, Amabel, peaking past their bedraggled curtains. He waved and opened the door.

            “Lance,” she squealed as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

            “Hello, Princess!” he answered. She giggled when he scooped her up and swung her over one of his shoulders. As he ventured further into the house, he shouted. “I’m home!”

            The entire house seemed to rattle at those magic words. Three pairs of feet pounded up the stairs. Lance felt suddenly bad for having interrupted them. It was late, at least for them. They would soon begin to rise with the dawn to plant their crops for the year, and here he was tramping in when the sky had gone dark. His siblings, his youngest brother, and his other sister came tumbling towards him. They crashed into his legs and attempted to climb him in their excitement.

            “Welcome home, brother,” a voice cut through the uproar of his youngest siblings. Lance looked up to find Gregory stood at the top of the stairs. Lance was the eldest at eighteen, but Gregory was only a year younger. Similar in age and similar in looks, Gregory was nearly his twin. All of the McClains had brown skin and even darker brown hair, but none except for Gregory and he had dark blue eyes. Although, Gregory was more stocky.

            Amabel swung herself to the ground, her long hair flying every which way, just before Gregory came crashing into his brother’s chest. They thumped each other’s backs and laughed merrily.

            “It feels like forever since I last saw you,” Gregory said as they pulled apart.

            “It’s only been a week,” Lance said and ignored the twinge in his chest when the question of when they would see each other after this inevitably flashed through his mind.

            Gregory only gave him a smile much weaker than he normally would and turned to their brother and sister still clinging to Lance’s legs. “Helen, Peter, go get mother and father would you?”

            Lance ruffled their hair before they pulled themselves off of him and trounced to the stairs. Amabel followed them with a gleeful, “Mama! Papa!”

            As soon as they disappeared up the stairs, where the bedrooms were, Gregory heaved himself into one of their worn down chairs with a tired sigh.

            “I saw you standing in front of the house for so long,” he finally said. “There’s something you have to tell us.”

            “Yes,” Lance said. Gregory had said the same thing the day he learned he was to go to the Garrison. Time had shifted by years, but Lance felt as if he were the same boy he had been back then. “I’d rather tell you with the others here as well.”

            “Will you at least tell me if it’s something horrible?” Gregory asked. He gnawed on his lip, seeming to nearly bite through it. “You seemed troubled, I’m worried.”

            Lance wanted to tell him that there was nothing to worry for, but the truth was he was nervous about what his new future held. He couldn’t see what was to become of him, and being so out of control of his own fate did not sit well with him. Although, the promise of being a part of something great was a welcome respite.

            “No,” Lance said. “It’s amazing, and life-changing.”

            Gregory stopped chewing on his lip and nodded.

            “Lance! My child!” His mother raced down the stairs. She was short, and plump, with hair darker than any of her children’s, nearly black. She was who Gregory and Lance had to thank for their blue eyes. A hoard of children followed closely at her heels, along with his father, a tall, lumbering man.

            His mother crushed him in a hug as soon as she reached him. He laughed softly and enveloped her in his arms. When he rested his cheek on the top of her head, he could remember all the days she had done the same to him.

            She pulled away only to lightly swat his arm. “You must start coming home more often. I miss seeing you here.”

            “I was home just last week, mama.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. Again, he was attacked by events not yet passed that would keep him from his home. _Best not to dwell on it_ , he told himself over and over.

            His father was the next to step forward. They embraced briefly before he pushed Lance back at arm’s length with a smile and a gentle “Son, welcome back.”

            “Why don’t you say hello to Marcus? All the noise you’ve been stirring up woke him.” his mother said. She smiled. “He wishes to see you.”

            His father moved aside as Lance turned towards the stairs. He pounded up them quickly until he found himself on their home's second level. A narrow hallway separated one side of the floor from the other. It led Lance straight to Marcus’ door at the end of the hall. He pressed himself against the grainy wood and knocked gently, already braced to enter.

            “Come in,” a soft voice called. Lance forced his smile to be bigger, even though the croak in his brother’s voice twisted his heart in the most unpleasant way.

            He peaked his head into the room and smiling became easier when he saw his brother lying on his side and staring at the door, waiting for him.

            “Hello, little brother,” Lance said as he wandered into the room.  

            Marcus’ eyes lit and he began the difficult task of sitting up. Lance rushed to his side and helped him the rest of the way. He rubbed his brother’s back gently and settled on the floor, ignoring the way it dug into his bony knees.

            “How have you been?” Lance asked, still idly stroking him.

            Marcus gave him his largest toothy grin and said, “Wonderful!”

            Lance smiled back. “Good. You’re a strong little man, you know.”

            “I’m not little,” Marcus said, slightly jutting his lip. His indignation only lasted a moment though before he seemed to forget about it completely. He looked at Lance with wide eyes and asked. “Do you have any more stories of being a knight?”

            “Of course I do,” Lance said, leaping to his feet. “Do you think that your brother, the most feared warrior in the Garrison, would come back to you with no amazing stories?”

            Marcus giggled and sat back against his headboard. “Well, then tell me!”

            Lance puffed out his chest and spoke in his best storytelling voice, the one he saved only for Marcus, deep and boisterous. “It all began when castle guards pulled me from the Garrison, straight out of my bed! And took me to the Queen herself.”

            Marcus’ eyes widened and Lance felt himself beginning to tell him everything. He was his youngest brother and he deserved to know just as much as the rest of them, but perhaps he could be dealt a softer blow. So he told him then, every wonderful detail, every awed thought he had when his Lion first stepped in front of him and claimed him as her own. His brother had a habit of looking at him with sparkling eyes and a smile whenever he told him of his exploits in the Garrison but that was nothing compared to how he looked at Lance now, with his mouth agape and watching his brother as if he had hung the stars.

            At the end of his narrative, he sat beside Marcus. “So, as you can see, I’ve become one of the most important knights in Altea, but that means I might not be able to visit you as often anymore.” Lance’s heart ached when his brother’s face fell. “Are you upset?”

            He shook his head and let a smile grow on his face once more, although it was much smaller than Lance would have liked. “A little, but you’re a Paladin now! I understand.”

            Lance nodded and wrapped him up in a hug. He placed a kiss on his forehead, with closed eyes and reluctantly pulled away.

            “I should tell the others,” Lance said, standing as he winked. “You’re the first one I’ve told about this.”   

            Marcus tugged on his hand before he was able to step away. “I want to be like you if I grow up, Lance.”

            Lance’s throat closed, and he knew the only reason he did not weep in that moment was because Marcus was looking at him with those large, glowing eyes of his.

            “You _will_ ,” Lance managed to choke out. “You’ll be a greater man than even me, I’ll bet.” He ruffled his hair and fled the room with one last smile. As soon as the door shut behind him, he let those few tears fall down his cheeks. He couldn’t let his little brother see him cry, or any of them, really. So he stood in the hall until he did not feel like he was being choked and until his eyes were dry. Then, he walked down the hall, descended the stairs and joined the rest of his family.

            He found them in the common area, with the hearth now crackling with fire. His mother stood in front of it, swirling the contents of a pot with great concentration. The rest occupied their scant number of chairs and free spaces on the slatted floor.

            “There is some food left over from our dinner, would you like some?” his mother asked as soon as she glanced over her shoulder and saw him. He didn’t have much need to answer, as she was already filling a bowl.

            “I would love some,” he said anyhow. She offered the bowl to him and Helen came up by his side with the heel of some bread. With thanks to them both, he situated himself on the floor next to Gregory, who sat in an actual chair. Once settled, he gazed at his food and suddenly became unsure if he could stomach it. The events of the past couple days still whirred in his head. He wanted it more than anything, the prowess, the power, the fame, and the Lion. But he wanted his family too. He wanted to remain within walking distance of them, he wanted to visit them on his free days, and visit when he wanted to simply speak with any or all of them. The more he thought of his nearing future though, the more he understood that he could not have both, and he was afraid that a single flash of disapproval from any of them would make him forsake his duty.

            “Lance,” his mother called gently. “Are you alright? You seem troubled.”

            The room had fallen silent as the idle chatter from the others halted, and all eyes turned to him. Worry quickly, evidently, overcame them if the twist of their hands and the furrow of their brows was anything to go by.

            “I-I have something to tell all of you.”  He breathed out and set his food aside. “I am no longer a part of the Garrison.”

            All of the breath in the room halted. Not a single person moved. His words saturated the walls and the floors and their minds until all Lance could hear was a ringing, loud and overwhelming. His father was the first to break the stillness. He stood from his chair with a clatter and towered over him with a scowl.

            “What have you done, boy?”  

             Lance held out his hands and shook his head furiously. “No! I haven’t been expelled, and I haven’t left of my own accord. It — This isn’t a bad thing, father. Queen Allura herself has removed me so I could become one of the knights of her castle.” He paused and lowered his gaze to the floor. “Actually, she has called it the beginning of a war. I’m a Paladin of Altea now.”

            His father stumbled back into his seat. His impact was heavy, and Lance feared he may faint, but he stayed upright and stared at his son. His gaze held emotions Lance could not understand, but he feared he would be scolded and yelled at for — for what, he did not know yet, but he was afraid all the same. So he did the one thing he could do when he felt as if the ground were opening up beneath him: he rambled.

            “I — I was hesitant to tell you because — because I won’t be able to visit as often. Tonight will be the last time I may stay the night here and I’m afraid my visits will become more and more scarce.” He felt the walls close in on him as his words became more and more frantic. He barely held himself back from voicing his worries. One thought saved him, though, pulled him from the depths of his thoughts. “But this is important, I’m _needed_ there. I have a duty to the castle now, to Queen Allura, and to all of Altea.”

            The silence overtook the house again, but it was softer, more thoughtful. His family shifted and stared at him and the floorboards. He could still feel discomfort squirming in his gut, but he felt no more fear. He could stand to sit in place and wait while the others sifted through his words.

            Finally, his mother whispered, “What does this mean? What is this — this duty of yours? To fight a war?”

            Lance pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “Yes, mama, I will fight in the war against the Galra. But it will be as one of the five strongest men in all the land.”

            Gregory squeezed his shoulder as he spoke. It was a welcome comfort and when he fell silent again, he found he was leaning heavily against his brother’s chair. The crackle of the fire began to die down, so long had it gone unattended. Lance considered feeding it more wood, or perhaps just stoking it, simply for something to do as he felt another silence overcome them.

            Before he could move, his mother stood from her chair, crossed the room, and slid to her knees until she and Lance were staring each other in the eye. She took his face in her gentle, calloused hands and pulled him forward until she could kiss his brow. Then she cradled him like she had so long ago when he was young and filled with the fears of a child.

            “I’m so proud of you, my son,” she murmured. With her face pressed against his head, he could feel her tears slipping into his hair. He had to swallow and blink as fast as he could so he would not wet her shoulder too. She continued holding him, even as his father’s heavy footsteps left them to ascend the stairs. Lance gripped his mother all the tighter.

            Time melted away. His brothers and sisters crowded him and gave him their own embraces when he could bear to tear himself away from the safety of his mother’s arms. As he let Peter go, and reached for Amabel when she clambered over to him again, his father returned. This time he held a piece of clothing in his hand. He crouched in front of his son and handed it to him.

            Lance, bewildered, unfurled it and let it drape to the floor. He gasped and let his hands slide through the material. It was a simple, dark olive cloak with a band of orange running through it just below the shoulders. The bottom was frayed, and the part that rested on the shoulders well worn. Lance could not think of a better gift.

            “I know it is not fitting for a knight of your status now,” his father began. “But it was my father’s, then mine, and now yours if you will have it. I was planning on giving it to you when you graduated from the Garrison, but it seems like a piece of our family will do you some good now.”

            Lance clutched it to his chest. “Thank you, father.”

            They embraced, and Lance melted into his family’s arms. The morning would be hard, Lance knew, but surrounded by his parents, his brothers, his sisters, he was not afraid.


	3. Keith

            Keith stomped onto the beaten path that led to his shack, leaving Lance behind him. He half expected to hear something else shouted back at him, pulled his shoulders up in anticipation. But nothing was forthcoming, and he let himself relax once the path to his shack and the main road were far enough away from each other to prevent any scathing arguments from occurring.

            The walk back was quiet, and lonesome. When they were still inside the city, the four of them had exchanged few words, but Keith still felt companionable in their presence. Even when Lance was speaking, he had not minded much. He perhaps had been in the mood to passively listen, and he realized that he had let himself make conversation hard, but it was primarily Lance who ruined it all with his prying, insensitive questions. His irritation slowly grew from that point until he'd exploded.

            An angry flame had been growing between them ever since Lance first spoke to him in the throne room, perhaps even before that, and Keith felt helpless to stop it. Keith did not understand where their arguments began, anyhow. Just now could have been understandable if he really pushed himself to analyze the situation. They had been tired and stretched thin from the lack of progress, frustration still burned through him whenever he thought of his inability to use magic, a single flame was all he needed, small enough for a candle, yet he had not even been able to do it.  Snapping at Lance was a nice reprieve, a nice way to let some of the steam escape before he had to bottle up his simmering emotions again and try to forget about them. But when they were in the throne room, and Lance declared a rivalry with him? He had no idea where that had come from. What further confused him was that Lance seemed friendly. He was amiable around Pidge and Hunk, and he conversed well with Allura and Coran. Yet their interactions had brought about nothing but anger and strife.

            He kicked at a stray rock on his path and watched it skitter away into the grass. Looking up, he could see his shack in the distance. Its lopsided frame was a comfort to him, and he hurried forward. The stars were hanging brightly in the sky and once he reached his dwelling, he clambered onto its roof using the tree that was situated next to it as a makeshift ladder. He looked up at the twinkling lights above him and remembered the wall in the Castle. It had certainly been beautiful, but not even the most revered painting in the land could ever hold up to the real sky. When he lounged against the side of the roof where the branches did not obscure his vision, he could feel as if he were flying around the stars and following their string of lights. He could pretend that he was not there, alone.

            He flew for a long while and watched as everything shifted above him. Wayward stars that shot across the sky could not escape his gaze, as focused as he was on everything above him. But the thought of Lance brought him down again when he thought of the soaring over the ocean. He frowned and tried not to dwell, but there was not much more to do than think. Soon, thoughts of the boy overwhelmed him and he was forced to confront everything he felt.

            Gritting his teeth, he shifted until he felt more comfortable, and let his thoughts flow naturally into daydreams.

            He imagined fighting Lance every day, their words growing harsher and less forgivable. Lance taunted him and prodded at his loneliness. Pidge and Hunk did not speak with him because their friend clashed with him, and there was never a reason for them to side with him, even if they recognized the cruelty in Lance’s words. Perhaps they would guide Lance away from the path he’d chosen, or keep him from Keith entirely to avoid conflict but he would be left to deal with the aftermath with no one but his book and the stars. Lance would begin to ignore him, and the others would as well, afraid of raising any dormant ire. Then Allura would notice the disrepair their group had fallen into. The Paladins were meant to be inseparable. “ _Closer than brothers, and mighty as the Lions when bonded_ _”_ his book had said. If he could not fulfill that duty to make them strong by bonding with the rest of their time and becoming like family, then what use would he be?

            The last words he had said rang through his mind, _We are not brothers_.

            He groaned and sat up. Resting his head in his hands and wondering how he could be so idiotic, he clenched his jaw, letting everything Lance had said to him wash over his thoughts. There had certainly been no helping it from _him_ either. Lance was intrusive, loud, annoying, and he made no effort to befriend Keith either. He was just as hot-headed, possibly more so than Keith and the fault of their frayed relationship did not at all lie with Keith.

            He sighed and picked at loose threads in his pants. Forlorn, he let the night swallow him up until sleep began to seem welcome. He pushed aside his thoughts of the others leaving him, and Lance being the cataclysm for his slow descent into exile and sat up. The wind stirred the grass and leaves causing shivers to take him over for a moment. Just as he was about to clamber down and into the warmth of his shack, he looked towards the ocean. There was a ship floating against one of the docks. It was not one of their ships. Keith had looked so often over the docks on lonely nights, he was as familiar with Altea's fishing boats as he was with the night sky. Something was amiss. He began to rush inside for his spyglass and got as far as struggling with his blasted door when he heard something, sharp in the night. He held his breath and stayed completely still, and heard it again. Someone was running as fast as they could down the abandoned dirt road.

            Feeling his side, the hilt of his dagger brushed against his fingers. Without another thought, he took off towards the road. The grass swished under his boots and the path became clearer as he jogged forward. He lived at the very end of Altea's hill, making it easy to see below when he emerged from his small circle of trees. Partially obscuring himself behind the trunk of the tree furthest from his home, he peered down and saw a cloaked figure barreling towards the city. Keith began backing away, unsheathing his dagger and crouching low to the ground.

            He tensed, preparing to fling himself at the figure the closer they became. He would have to sprint towards them first before he could properly attack. This wasn't an ideal, there was too much risk of the person hearing him coming and turning in time to fight. The element of surprise would be minimal, and he could not go any further even if he crawled. The grass was much too short and dry to lead to any proper stealth. But he had to do something. Even before he became a Paladin, after he left the Garrison, he considered it his duty to protect the people of Altea. He could not, in good conscience, let this intruder enter the city without at least trying to stop them. 

            Finally, the runner came close enough for Keith to tense his legs in a last-second preparation to launch himself forward. The figure was now close enough for Keith to see that the frame was that of a broad man's. A cowl and the darkness of the night obscured any other details Keith could glean before the man was parallel to his hiding place. Time slowed as Keith finally launched himself forward. The grass crunched too loud beneath his frantic, pounding steps as he closed the distance. He pulled his dagger from his pants and raised it as he came closer, his breath coming out in short, loud bursts. 

            He was not quick enough. Just as he approached the man's back, he spun and brandished a gnarled staff. With a speed that left Keith reeling, he knocked him on his back. Keith struggled to breathe in as much air as he could as he struggled to his feet. A growl built in the back of his throat. He would not be bested by someone with only a staff as a weapon. With the last of his strength, he lunged to his feet and managed to meet the man chest to chest. But he could go no further, for what he saw stopped every muscle, every thought, in their tracks. Their closeness revealed a face Keith had prayed to see again, but never thought would return.

            “Keith?”

            He was different now. His once entirely black hair now had a tuft of white that drooped over his forehead. A large scar, that looked like a tear in his skin, passed over the bridge of his nose. But that was not all; when Keith stumbled backward and the man turned to him fully, he saw that his best friend had not returned to him whole. The right sleeve of his shirt flapped lifelessly in the breeze, melding into one with his cloak.

            “Shiro.” He lurched forward toward his friend. “ _Shiro._ _”_

            Shiro brought him close and they embraced under the stars, Keith clutching tightly to his shirt and hesitant to let go. When they stood face to face once more, Shiro smiled at him.

            “It’s been a long time.”

            “More than two years,” Keith said. He lowered his gaze. “I thought you were dead.”

            “I suspected as much,” Shiro said. He rested a gentle hand on Keith’s shoulder. “I’ve returned now, but I’m not sure for how long.”

            Keith looked up, his brow furrowed and the anger from the day finding its way back into his heart. “What do you mean?”

            “The Galra are-” he paused and shook his head. “I shouldn’t worry you with these things. Just know that the tidings I am bringing the Queen are not good, and I may not be able to stay.”

            “Everything the Queen knows I should know too,” Keith snapped. He moved away sharply and passed a hand over his face. “Things have changed here, Shiro, including my position. I have a right to this information as much as Queen Allura does, even though you may not believe it.”

            Shiro eyed him. “I knew you were revered in the Garrison but I didn’t anticipate you’d rise through the ranks so quickly.”

            “It’s — it’s something more complicated than that,” Keith said. He sighed and turned towards the city. “Come, you seemed like you were in a hurry and this might take some time.”

            Shiro only grunted and began forward again. But this time, he merely kept his gate long and hurried rather than sprinting, so that Keith may keep up. Then, over his shoulder, he said, “So tell me.”

            “The book you gave me, do you remember it?” When Shiro nodded Keith swallowed and continued on. “It’s real, and I am one of them.”

            The rest of the trip to the castle Keith recounted the events of the past two days. He spoke as quickly as he could, shoving everything into the air as the space between them and the Castle dwindled. They reached the gates when he finally finished his tale. Shiro stared hard at the cobblestones. He was silent so long that Keith began to squirm in discomfort. The guards left them be, but not without casting a glance their way every once and a while.

            Shiro turned to him, finally. “I’m worried for your safety, but that’s nothing new.” He clapped his arm and smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

            Keith returned the gesture and ducked his head. He hoped Shiro would not see how those words heated his cheeks. He worked hard for praise from the man, and once he received it his chest inflated until he felt full enough to burst. He had missed Shiro greatly.

            When the two of them finally parted from each other, the guards brought Keith and Shiro to the throne room upon Keith’s request to meet with Queen Allura. All was quick, and before Keith knew it Allura was entering her throne room with a lavish robe resting on her shoulders and her hair falling loosely down her back. She smiled upon seeing Keith.

            “I’m sorry to have disturbed you so late, Queen Allura,” Keith began. “But there’s urgent news you must hear.”

            “Then speak,” she said. She finally glanced over Keith’s shoulder. Her eyes widened at the sight of Shiro and she stepped forward. “You-you were captured by the Galra. I have not searched for you in a long time, you never moved so I —” She shook her head. “What I have to say can wait, if this is urgent I must hear it first.”

            She made her way to her throne and sat heavily upon it as Shiro stepped forward.

            The news he brought was unprecedented. Keith had not expected him to speak of such things. Shiro, in front of them, spilled forth every detail of the Galra’s plans. All of it was worrying, to say the least. He wondered at what Shiro had gone through as one of the prisoners, but he said nothing of it. He kept the descriptions to a clinical recounting of all he had heard and spoke of nothing more. It was still enough to keep his words sharp as a dagger.

            “The Galra will come quickly over the plains,” Shiro said. “They plan on weaving their way through the mountains to attack, and soon. Zarkon grows restless and he wishes to begin another war, the Last War, he calls it.”

            Shiro had nothing more to say. There was nothing else, really. He had no information of the size of their party or when, exactly, they planned to move. Allura slumped back in her seat. Her face was scrunched in a fearsome scowl, which grew deeper with every passing second. Keith grew uncomfortable as if he were standing in the sweltering heat with no shade or breeze to retreat to. Shiro was impassive, merely staring at Allura while she, no doubt, gathered plans in her mind.

            She stood, suddenly. “I must speak to Coran of this, but I fear we must begin rousing our army, and quickly.”

            “Is there a way I could be of help to you?” Shiro asked, and gestured to his right arm. “I may be crippled but I can still fight, and fight well. I ask that you allow me to somehow fight alongside Keith.”

            Allura nodded and descended the stairs until she stood face to face with Shiro. “I have a powerful connection to quintessence, I can feel people through it. Each holds magic as differently as their faces have been sculpted and you, Shiro, are the fifth we were waiting for.”

            Keith’s eyes widened and he exclaimed. “ _Shiro_ is our leader?”

            “Yes,” Allura said. “I’ve been keeping track of him over the years, as I have all of you, but, I’m sorry Shiro, I’m afraid you were so stationary in the Empire I’d lost all hope that you would come to us.”

            “I understand,” Shiro said. He stepped back and puffed out a heavy breath. “I’m honored to be appointed this position.”

            “We have much to discuss,” Allura said to Shiro, before turning to Keith still standing in wait. “You may leave if you wish, however, I would appreciate it if you returned to the Castle as quickly as you can in the morning, or even this evening. There is more work to be done.”

            Keith nodded and left. The walk back to his shack was long and lonely. He felt unsafe under the open air without Shiro or Allura. He would have even taken Lance by his side. Never before had he seen a Galra, he had only found depictions of them in the library, but he swore their figures jumped this way and that in his periphery. He rushed as quickly as he could, cursing himself for not thinking to borrow a horse before he’d gone on his merry way.

            The shack was an eerie shadow by the time he returned. He was quick to gather his book and spare shirt before rushing back to the Castle. He nearly sprinted through the streets. Unease never left him until he was inside of the Castle walls once more and being brought to his new room in the musty old halls of the Paladins’ Wing.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://memeclains.tumblr.com/)  
>  Please, feel free to message me on here! Comments, constructive criticisms, and meandering thoughts are always welcome and appreciated! :D


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